


i'll find you in the dark

by thoseguitarists



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Narry - Freeform, Public Sex, Rimming, Top!Harry, bottom!Niall, but like niall's on top, cuz he's a power bottom, it's mullingar 2015!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoseguitarists/pseuds/thoseguitarists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are they in love? No, not yet, but they do love each other as friends, as brothers, and that’s enough for the moment. What he’s shared with Niall and what Niall’s shared with him is something that’ll forever bond them together, like the roots of an aging tree winding beneath the ground, intertwining and interlacing for years to come. No, they don’t love each other, but love oftentimes happens when it’s least expected.</p><p>And being stranded on a fucking rock in the middle of a lake at nighttime is a bit unexpected, in Harry’s opinion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll find you in the dark

“You’re fucking stupid.”  
  
Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Fuck you. I’m not stupid.”  
  
“Really? Why are we stranded on a rock in the middle of a damn lake then? Hmm? I mean, it was your idea to go skinny dipping at three in the morning, and it was you who didn’t bring extra batteries for the flashlights, and so it’s your fault the shitty things went out. It’s your fault we can’t see to get back to shore and it’s your fault I’m gonna freeze my ass off on this fuckin’ rock in the middle of a damn lake. _Naked_ , too!”  
  
Harry narrows his eyes, close enough to see the barely-there outline of Niall’s pretty little bum, and reckons Niall would have to be out for a while to lose even a fraction of his taunt ass.  
  
With a sigh, Harry falls backward onto the aforementioned, semi-warm rock and splays his arms out wide; it’s dark and the stars are twinkling above, offering a bit of light, and his fingertips casually brush against the bottom of Niall’s spine, and they’re naked and kind of shivering from the chilly wind billowing about, and Harry keeps his hand pressed against the warm, wet flesh right above Niall’s pert bum in some weird hope of conserving heat.  
  
Harry will admit that it’s his fault ― because it is. He’s the one who got a fire beneath his bum and woke Niall up from a peaceful sleep in a mountain of pillows and blankets in their shared hotel room; he’s the one who coerced Niall into pulling on some clothes so they can sneak out past security and venture out to the lake they passed on the way to the stadium; he’s the one who persuaded Niall into skinny dipping and swimming all the way out into the middle of the water, where it’s deep and dark and gloomy and warm; he’s the one who found a rock and tugged Niall atop it so they could sit and talk and kiss and touch and taste under the stars and be surrounded by the beauty of nighttime and nature.  
  
He’s the one who didn’t count on the flashlights on the bank going off; he’s the one who ignored the problem much to Niall’s prompting and instead swam around a bit, losing his way back to shore. He’s the one who’s got them into this problem, got them lost in the middle of a big lake with no remembrance of how to get back to shore because it’s dark, pitch black and scary, and he’s the one who’s going to have to deal with the consequences from the team when they trod back into the hotel at the ass crack of dawn, wet and shuddering and nearly sick with pneumonia, probably.  
  
“It’s going to be all right, Ni.” Harry’s not really sure of that, though: it’s quite chilly outside, and they’re naked, and the stars are high in the sky, and the sun isn’t going to be out for another several hours, either. But he doesn’t want Niall to know that they’re more or less screwed. “Promise.”  
  
Niall grunts, absently moving closer to Harry till their bare thighs touch and a small shock of electric sparks causes Harry’s body to heat up intensely. _Oh_. Harry forgot that contact and continuous movement keeps your body warm, keeps your blood flowing, keeps you alert enough to know not to fall asleep and freeze.   
  
“You can’t promise that, Harry,” Niall says, and Harry wants to cry from the sheer desperation and sadness in Niall’s tone because it’s his fault Niall’s feeling so down, so glum and ugly and dark. “Liam and Lou are the only ones who know we’re out here, and they aren’t going to come looking for us. We’re gonna have to wait till the sun rises.”  
  
Harry nods, opting to not respond immediately. He feels bad in the way that he regrets bringing Niall along with him; he doesn’t want Niall to be mad at him or get sick, either, and maybe skinny dipping in the middle of the night in mid-October in Ireland wasn’t a very good idea. But he couldn’t help himself ― you only live once, as they say, and while it’s an overused term that’s lost its definite fame, it still holds a little bit of meaning.  
  
However, you only die once, too, if that’s what you believe, and if he’s to die with Niall, naked, in the middle of a lake surrounded by deep, dark water, he reckons that’s okay. Because Niall’s here, and he’s like the way truck tires sound on a gravel road, like the way the wind feels as it whips inside the vehicle and billows about, like the smell of earth and dirt and wetness and green permeating the air. Niall’s happiness, and if something horribly bad is to come out of tonight and Harry’s ignorant decisions, at least he’ll have his happiness beside him.  
  
“Are you mad at me?” Harry wonders aloud, and he’s happy, for once, that the darkness is like a curtain of invisibility around them because he doesn’t want Niall to see his blush. Yes, they’ve seen one another naked on more than a few occasions, and yes, they’ve been together a few times, on the nights when touring and loud crowds and willing fans and homesickness gets too much to handle, but the thought of Niall being mad at him hurts deep in his tummy, as if there’s an iron fist of nastiness gripping his insides and squeezing till he can’t breathe, can’t eat, can’t swallow. “Are you mad ― I’m sorry if you are. I’m kind of an idiot. I’m sorry, Ni.”  
  
Are they in love? No, not yet, but they do love each other as friends, as brothers, and that’s enough for the moment. What he’s shared with Niall and what Niall’s shared with him is something that’ll forever bond them together, like the roots of an aging tree winding beneath the ground, intertwining and interlacing for years to come. No, they don’t love each other, but love oftentimes happens when it’s least expected.  
  
And being stranded on a fucking rock in the middle of a lake at nighttime is a bit unexpected, in Harry’s opinion.  
  
Niall’s shoulders drop with a huff and he moves over, leans back, presses himself against and into Harry in a way that makes Harry more warm than he’s been in a while, curling himself beneath Harry’s chin and kissing at the tender flesh at the hollow of his throat.  
  
“I’m not mad at you, really,” Niall replies, and Harry’s not sure if he should believe him, but Niall’s never been a liar and Harry’s not one to accuse, either. “I’m just… mad. Mad, and cold. But mostly cold.”  
  
Harry smiles into the darkness and turns into Niall, throwing his leg over Niall’s and aligning their bare groins; a tingling sensation begins, and Harry knows he’s going to be hard, raging and ready to explode, in mere seconds.  
  
“Ya know, if we fuck till dawn, we’ll probably stay warm enough to not die.”  
  
Niall grunts and tries to move away, tries to shy from Harry’s strong embrace, but Harry holds Niall tight, pressed against his beating heart because that’s where he belongs. Besides, Harry quite likes having his best friend/fuck buddy held close, quite likes being cuddled and cuddling in return ― because Niall smells like the way freedom feels, looks like the way paradise tastes, and nirvana is a place inside Niall’s arms, against his hot chest and beating heart.  
  
Does Harry love Niall? Yes. Are they in love? Probably as much as two people who aren’t supposed to love each other can be, yeah.  
  
“Eat my entire ass, Harry.”  
  
It’s funny, it _should_ be funny ― but Harry doesn’t think so. He bites his lip and moves his hand around to grab at one of Niall’s cheeks, splaying his fingers out and pressing the tip of one against Niall’s hole, refusing to enter without lube but promising that it’ll be full before too long.  
  
“Don’t tempt me,” Harry grits out like an animal, like a beast, flipping back over and pulling Niall atop him; Niall squeezes between Harry’s spread legs, and their semi-hard cocks brush against each other, and Harry mewls and Niall groans and it’s a mess because this isn’t the situation to be making love but Harry can’t help it and Niall can’t, either, it seems.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
Harry hums and combs a thick strand of hair away from Niall’s shadowed eyes; it’s dark, and Harry can’t really see anything, but somehow he knows Niall’s eyes are shining, knows Niall’s absolutely red, knows Niall’s glowing with pink excitement. “Have you ever had your ass licked till it’s dripping, Ni?”  
  
“No,” Niall answers immediately, and it’s a whisper, a smeared response that makes Harry chuckle because he has, and he knows Niall will definitely love it. “No, I’ve not.”  
  
“Do you want to?”  
  
Niall freezes against Harry then, dropping his hips till they’re touching from head to toe, curling their legs and twining their arms. “Do you want to eat me out, Harry?”  
  
And ― and _fuck_ , Harry does. He never realized how much he wants to feel Niall’s puckered, rich hole beneath his tongue till now, and… and he doesn’t care that they’re perpetually fucked by nature because he’d rather fuck Niall surrounded by nature.  
  
Harry nods and lifts up, grazing his lips across Niall’s cold jaw, licking and kissing and nipping and sucking till it’s warmer and surely red, till a mark of passion is left behind that will no doubt be questioned profusely. “Yeah ― yeah, I’d love to,” he says after a moment, reaching down and cupping Niall’s bum with both hands, squeezing and kneading and pulling at the flesh till Niall’s whining low in his throat and Harry is completely hard and ready to go. “And… and it’ll keep us warm. It will.” 

  
“I know. I know that.” Niall nods and pulls away, sits up to straddle Harry’s thighs, and it’s dark and Harry can’t see anything and he thinks the reason why everything is so hypersensitive at the moment is because his vision is cut off. And he makes a mental note to remember a blindfold the next time he and Niall feel the need to blow off some steam. “And yeah, I’ve thought about it. With you, though, ‘cause you’re the only guy I’ve been with and girls are cool, ‘course, but I don’t reckon they’d imagine eating ass, and… and I’ve always wanted to, but I never knew how to bring it up.”  
  
Oh. Oh, Niall is _adorable_ when he’s rambling and nervous and Harry falls a little bit deeper in the kind-of love he feels for his best friend.  
  
“There’s no need to be shy ‘round me, Ni. You ought to know that by now.” He smiles, but it’s lost on Niall because of the darkness; he reaches up, trails one hand through Niall’s hair while the other moves to Niall’s chest and caresses the hard muscle there, curling in the sparse pattering of hair in the center. “Just ask, yeah? Or tell. ‘Cause I’ll do whatever you want me to. You know that.”  
  
“I do. I do know that.”  
  
“Hmm.” Harry uses his hand in Niall’s hair as leverage to pull Niall down, slotting their mouths together, and Niall tastes faintly of the lake water mixed with mint toothpaste and the too-sweet coffee he drank earlier after Harry woke him. His tongue is warm, and wet, and it fits nicely inside Harry’s mouth, makes the perfect mate for Harry to curl his own around and suck and lick till their amalgamated saliva is gathering and dripping from the corners of their mouths and they’re hard and leaking. “Want me to do it? Want me to eat you out, Ni?”  
  
All Niall can do is nod. And that’s everything to Harry, really.  
  
With the utmost care, as if Niall’s a priceless jewel that’s been in Harry’s family for uncountable generations, Harry pushes Niall off and helps him to spin, aids him in straddling Harry’s shoulders and moving up, till his fleshy bum is in Harry’s face and his own lips are kissing at the gentle skin right above Harry’s raging erection.  
  
Harry uses one hand to grip a cheek while the other smacks its opposite, eliciting a shiver of abrupt pleasure; Niall’s lips kiss along Harry’s fern tattoos and waist, licking into the crevices and biting at all the weird ridges till he mouths at the tip of Harry’s cock, and Harry takes that as a sign to spread Niall wide and lay his tongue flat against the puckered hole.  
  
It tastes weird in a way, like black lake water and dark desire; Niall’s gasp is felt more than heard, and Harry does his best to spread his legs, to widen his stance and force his hips to stay still so he doesn’t wind up suffocating Niall with his thighs. And fuck, it feels _good_ , feels absolutely amazing kissing and licking and mouthing at Niall’s ridged, tight hole as Niall slurps at the head of Harry’s cock, sucking at the precum and tonguing the slit and fondling his balls delicately, gently, tenderly.  
  
Harry uses his fingers to spread Niall’s hole, allows his tongue to just barely slip inside and lick around and around and around, till he’s wet and dripping with spit and Harry’s mindlessly bucking his hips and Niall’s shamelessly riding Harry’s face, grinding his dick on Harry’s bare chest like a professional, like he’s just now realizing he was born to drive Harry delirious.  
  
“Harry,” Niall moans, breathes against Harry’s tip, and Harry bucks his hips, absently forcing his length into Niall’s mouth; Niall makes a noise in the back of his throat, gags a bit, and Harry whimpers, forcing his lower half to still and shoving his tongue inside Niall as deep as he can.  
  
Niall’s a champ, though, following Harry’s retreating length and licking, slurping at the sides and swiping his tongue all about, easing as much of it in his mouth as he can and then taking more, more, _more_ ― and then he’s deepthroating Harry, swallowing around Harry’s cock and gagging, and Harry’s biting his fingers, lubing them up with spit to hold in the animalistic growls of pleasure and shock that shake and rattle him like an earthquake.  
  
With a wet noise, Harry pulls back and eases his middle finger inside Niall, cautious and sensual, listening to the sounds Niall makes against his cock and using them as a guide to go deeper and deeper and deeper till he’s as far as he can be, wiggling about and thrusting shallowly, softly, sensually.  
  
“’M gonna fuck you, ‘kay, Ni?” Harry slips another finger inside, scissoring his digits and curling them, fiddling about to find Niall’s weakness. “Can I? Would that be okay?”  
  
Niall hums, gags and moves off Harry’s hardness with a loud, wet slurp; he drops his face against Harry’s thigh, breathing hard and heavy and harsh, and the air is a tantalizing temptation on Harry’s red prick.  
  
“Yeah. S’fine. Please.”  
  
Harry’s breath hitches in his chest; the pain is a pleasure that makes him shudder with sensation, vibrate with ecstasy, and he doubles his efforts, spitting on his fingers and rubbing the wetness all about till Niall’s as stretched as he can be, till Niall’s whining and whimpering and sobbing and riding Harry’s fingers hard and fast, rough and long.  
  
“ _Harry_ ―”  
  
In a flash, Harry pushes at Niall’s bum, forcing him off; quickly, gently, he grabs Niall’s hips and spins him, pulling him to sit back down on his thighs. He grabs the base of his length as Niall puts his hands on Harry’s chest, curling his fingers and using his pectorals as leverage as he sinks low, slow and soft. His wet, stretched hole swallows the head of Harry’s cock ― and it’s a tight fit because they don’t do this often enough to be completely accustomed to one another ― and he’s very delicate, very vocal as does so, till Harry’s as far in as possible and the tip of his length is pressed securely against Niall’s bundle of nerves and they’re both on the verge of crying.  
  
Harry’s mouth falls open and he gasps, reaching his hands up behind Niall’s back and gripping his shoulders tight, digging his blunt nails into Niall’s warm skin. “Slow… slow, baby. Go slow.”  
  
And Niall nods, undulates his hips and grinds against Harry’s thighs; he puts his hands on either side of Harry’s head and leans down, laying his lips on the base of Harry’s neck and kissing, mouthing at the skin gently, tenderly. Niall lifts up indolently and Harry groans because Niall’s so hot, so slick, so soft; Niall falls back just as lazily and Harry lets out a strangled moan, basking in the sensations that’s Niall and the sensitive heat of the night.  
  
“ _Niall_.”  
  
“Shh.” Niall kisses along Harry’s chest, biting teasingly at his nipples and rolling his tongue around the hardened nubs, drawing out prolonged moans from Harry’s mouth that amalgamate with the songs of the crickets and birds and frogs and tickling water. “Just ― just _don’t talk_ , baby. Just… just let it go.”  
  
Harry nods, shuts his eyes and blocks out the stars and incredulous situation and just _feels_ ― feels Niall’s warm breath pitter-pattering across his chest, feels Niall’s tightness clenching around him, feels Niall’s fingers rake through his hair and scratch at his scalp and pull at the thick strands, feels Niall’s moves and grinds and bucks, feels Niall’s moans and whimpers and whines and groans and sobs against his skin as Niall pleads for more and more and more.  
  
And it’s a miracle, kind of, because Harry isn’t cold anymore and Niall isn’t shivering and their teeth aren’t chattering. The wind is blowing, of course, and the water is cold as it laps at the edges of the big rock they’re sat on, but they’re not cold ― they’re not cold because they’re hot, because the sparks of lust and pleasure and deep-rooted affection between them is warmer than the surface of the sun.  
  
It’s too much all of a sudden, and Harry feels a tight knot in his abdomen, an iron fist that relaxes and settles, and he loses himself before he even realizes what’s happening; he arches, scratches his fingers down Niall’s back in a way that’s sure to leave marks, and the noise that comes out of his throat is inhuman, wild and crazy in a ferocious sense that triggers Niall’s orgasm, too, and then they’re coming together and Harry’s filling Niall up completely, wholly, entirely, and Niall’s streaking his cum across Harry’s tummy, painting Harry’s tattoos with a creamy substance that tastes as good as the finest wine.  
  
The color of pleasure is bright as it streaks across Harry’s closed eyes, blinding him with rainbows and sparks of absolute euphoria. It’s never been like this ― it’s never been so intimate, so desperate, so breathtaking in a tender sense that makes Harry question why he’s just now realizing how much Niall means to him.  
  
Wow, it’s magical.  
  
Harry slowly opens his eyes, almost afraid of what he’s about to see, and when he blinks away the bleary colors of passion, he notices that Niall’s looking down at him with parted, wet lips and shadowed eyes that glow brighter than fireflies flickering through the forest, and they’re both in awe as Harry softens and Niall’s sensitivity arises and peaks and topples.  
  
“Hi,” Niall says, breathes out a sigh that turns into a warm smile and makes Harry’s heart absolutely melt like marshmallows in a mug of simmering cocoa. “You’re really pretty.”  
  
Harry blushes, turns red and bashfully tilts his face away; he covers his eyes with one hand while the other rakes through Niall’s hair, combs it out of his face. “Thank you,” Harry says, and it’s not really hard to accept a compliment when you know the person giving it to you means it with their whole heart. “You’re beautiful, too.”  
  
Niall giggles, drops his sweaty face into the crook of Harry’s neck and kisses the damp skin. “I’m glad it’s you,” he announces, and Harry doesn’t understand but he isn’t allowed time to ask because Niall’s already explaining. “I mean, I’m glad it’s you and not somebody else that… that I’m doing this with. ‘Cause I know you care about me and I care about you, too, and ― and it wouldn’t be the same if it was with somebody else. I’m just really, _really_ glad it’s you, Harry.”  
  
“Ni? I’m happy it’s you, too.” And he is ― oh, Harry’s so, so happy it’s Niall he’s with in the most special of ways, so happy it’s Niall who he’s losing himself to and Niall who he’s slowly, slowly falling in a kind of love with. “Are you cold?”  
  
Niall shakes his head, jostles Harry’s chin and Harry bites back a wince. “No,” he replies, “but I think we should probably do it again so my nuts don’t freeze off.”  
  
At that, Harry throws his head back and laughs like a little kid, laughs so loud it echoes off the water and trees and rocks and stars ― because he’s not in love with Niall, no, but it’s so, _so_ close.

 

 


End file.
